The Dragon and the Nightingale
by Palaven Blues
Summary: Sjöfn is a half-Bosmer thief living in the wilds, unaware of the dissent spreading through Skyrim. Jökull is a Nord raised in the heart of the Empire, on his way to join the fight against the rebels. When their paths first intertwine, they find themselves shortly facing the headsman's axe, only to be dragged into a greater conflict than anything they could have imagined.


_AN: Trying something a little different, and also hoping to finish NaNo on time with this. I have not abandoned any of my Mass Effect. Just taking a brief hiatus, still. Enjoy._

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Chapter One

_Helgen_

_._

"Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup."

~Ancient Nord saying

.

Sjöfn breathed deep, letting the cold air fill her lungs. Being half Bosmer, she preferred to live outdoors as much as possible; her Nord half, however, allowed her to do so in Skyrim without freezing to death. She stepped through the heavy snow, light elven steps making no sound, no crunch since she never sank through the frozen crust, no scuffle as the natural world accepted her passage without protest. The night sky poised above her, a thousand thousand stars twinkling down upon her. Someone had told her once that each star represented a dragon that had died long ago. Sjöfn didn't believe that, but she didn't exactly _disbelieve_ it, either. She bowed her head to show respect, as she did nightly when she noticed the stars had come out. Or, almost every night.

Well, when she remembered, anyway. It's not like the dragons could still notice if she observed the niceties.

Fox fur rubbed against her face, warm and inviting, as she adjusted her hood to keep the first flurry of the day out of her eyes. Another cold one, she predicted, smiling a little. What a surprise. A cold day, in Skyrim. She glanced up to check her position by the stars; she had almost gone through all her supplies, and her pack was getting heavy with found goods. Time to stop by a town somewhere, trade some items, buy outright what she couldn't barter for. She thought she might be somewhere around Helgen. Did she want to go north, or south from here? Damn if she could remember. Oh, well. She could wander for another day or two, or she could climb a tree once it was light enough, see if she could spot the nearest town, or the river. She could find her way from the river, even if she couldn't see Helgen.

A low rumble got her attention and she crouched, left hand reaching for her glass knife and right hand poised by her bow. The sound repeated, quiet and unthreatening. Creeping forward, Sjöfn focused on keeping her breathing and gear silent, until she edged into a clearing and found the source of the noise. She almost laughed, but grinned noiselessly instead. Not a bear, as she had thought.

Just a Nord.

_Expensive gear for a lone traveller. Poor thing is going to get robbed with all that expensive gear on him. I'd better help him with that._ Sjöfn shrugged out of her pack, depositing it on the snow, and continued her silent approach. What was it that made Nords sleep so heavily? She could sneak up on anyone, but with Nords it almost seemed as though she wasn't playing fair.

First, she liberated his bag, wedged under his head like a pillow. Next she took his heavy cloak, wrapping it around her own shoulders. She could get a good price for a cloak this fine; she didn't know anyone who had one finer. As she moved the cloak away from the sleeping man, her eyes fell upon his sword. Ebony, carved all the way down the blade, strong enough to fight anything, but light enough for even a casual warrior to wield it. Even before she had a hand on it, she debated whether to sell the thing and eat like a jarl for weeks, or to keep it. She could always use a good blade.

She should have been paying attention to her mark's breathing instead. The moment she touched the hilt of the weapon, the Nord grabbed her wrist, storm-blue eyes blazing at her. Sjöfn didn't take time to think, just reacted instantly, rolling backward and planting a foot in his gut to throw him behind her. She was on her feet before he'd even landed, ready to sprint to her bags and disappear into the night. She kept running through this plan even as her face crashed into the snow, one meaty Nord hand wrapped around her ankle. She kicked her foot out as he climbed to his feet, catching him in the knee and bringing him to the ground. He landed on her before she could scramble away, and after that, the fight only lasted a few minutes. Even with one leg unmoving since she kicked it, the damn Nord was strong as well as quick. He got her pinned and held his knife against her throat.

Sjöfn closed her eyes against the coming pain. She had never expected a better end than this; her luck had just run out, finally.

The pain didn't come.

One eye opened cautiously to glare at him. "Did you forget the next part?"

The Nord looked down at her. "It seems a bit harsh to murder you for a theft you didn't even finish."

Sjöfn sighed, blowing her red hair back out of her face. "Well, what now?"

In response, he sat up, taking most of his weight off her. The leg she'd kicked seemed to move awkwardly as he sat up to straddle her, and she tried to dismiss the thought that she'd really hurt him; if she'd really hurt him, he'd cut her throat, not merely press the knife against it, threatening. He didn't seem to want to kill her, even keeping from touching her, as if to be respectful. Weakness, she decided. If she could distract him sufficiently, she could throw him and make her escape. She might have to leave her gear and bow, but the cloak would let her buy new. She could buy better than what she had gotten used to carrying, actually.

She blinked her eyes slowly, smiling up at him as she reached one hand to caress his chest. "I've never been defeated in a fight before …. Are you familiar with the Dibellan arts?"

His eyes went wide in shock for a moment, before he did the last thing she would have expected.

The blond bastard started _laughing._

He didn't merely chuckle once or twice, then shake his head. No. Loud, uproarious laughter shook his form, looking as though he could not control his mirth. He would seem to get it almost under control, then start howling again as he caught a glimpse of her, still pinned under him.

Sjöfn's jaw twitched. Defeated in a fight was one thing. Despite what she said, it had happened a time or two before. Being caught trying to lift someone's goods, that happened more than she liked.

But she had never gotten such a reaction from an attempt at seduction. She had never even gotten a "no." But this … this ….

"Trollspawn!" she screamed, sliding a leg free to kick him in the chest as soon as the knife drifted away from her neck, forgotten in his laughter. He fell, still chortling to himself and rubbing his chest where she'd kicked him. Sjöfn scrambled for her bow. She couldn't grapple him and win, he'd proved that. She nocked an arrow before he had time to stand up. "Not so humorous now, is it?" she snapped. He stopped laughing, but her cheeks still flamed in response to the grin on his face. Refused her. Not just refused, but found the idea comical.

How dare he? Rage filled her as she realized she didn't even want to kill him.

Not right away, at any rate. "Drop your knife," she ordered.

The Nord turned it in his hand, and tossed it toward her hilt-first. Not just dropping it, giving it to her. "Keep it." The smile never quite left his face. "A fair trade for the laugh you just gave me."

The arrow trembled, begging to be let loose. She saw where it would enter, his adam's apple bobbing and taking up her entire vision. _End it, end it now. He'll never laugh at you again, Sjöfn._ But if she did that, she would not get to show him how grievously he'd erred, and make him suffer for it.

"Kneel down, bastard."

The Nord looked up and over her shoulder. "Someone's coming."

Sjöfn opened her mouth to rebut this, but a single squeak behind her changed her mind. She whirled to face the new threat, not expecting that the Nord could be telling the truth, and also using the distraction.

He drove into her back, taking her to the ground, and her finger slipped, loosing the arrow. They both hissed as the arrow flew away, and flinched as it hit something with a solid _thunk_. They both held their breaths, Sjöfn hoping against hope they hadn't just gotten the wrong people's attention, the Nord probably doing the same ….

"_Rebels!"_ came the shout.

Sjöfn elbowed hard to roll him off of her, scrambling to her feet. She paused when she reached the edge of the clearing and looked back. The Nord lay in the snow, his jaw set as he massaged at the leg she kicked before. She bit her lip, guilt gnawing at her. She only meant to rob him, not get him killed. How could she know a simple kick would destroy his leg? He must have an old injury, she decided. His own fault.

"Get up, ice-brain!" she hissed. Hooves thundered like the death-drums warriors supposedly heard before the end; whoever they'd fired at was almost there.

The Nord looked over his shoulder, then back to her. "Just run." Stormy eyes told her to go, to get away; that it was too late for him already.

She cursed herself as she sprinted back to him, wedging her shoulder under his arm to lever him to his feet. She should have left him. Nothing but dead weight, and why was a cripple so far out in the wilderness, anyway? He had no business being out here. She tried to get him moving faster. If they could get past the clearing, mayhap they would have a chance. Mayhap whoever it was, looking for rebels, wouldn't think it was worth it to chase down a stray arrow and the person who'd fired it. Mayhap, mayhap, mayhap; her brain filled with possibilities as she struggled with the Nord's overly muscled figure, while he moved as much as he seemed able. They had just reached the tree-line when the world exploded in light and pain.

Sjöfn and her Nord screamed in unison, falling into the snow once more. Though her back had seized and little tingles of agony travelled her spine and her limbs, she rolled weakly to look her attacker in the face before she died. Tall, Altmer, dressed funny … he sneered, then threw lightning once more. Her body danced as the torment ripped through her again, leaving her unable to move or scream or even hope for death. She didn't even have the presence of mind to be grateful when the darkness folded over her.

#

She woke to creaking, her head bouncing as the wagon jostled under her. She blinked groggily, noting with some embarrassment that she lay half-sprawled across the Nord she'd tried to rob. Blushing again, Sjöfn pulled herself upright.

"So, you're with us again." The strange Nord across from her smiled sadly. Next to him sat a skinny dark-haired youth. She herself was wedged between the huge Nord from earlier, and another huge Nord, this one with a gag tied tight around his mouth. Everyone's hands were bound in front of them. Sjöfn tried to wriggle out of her bonds, but could not manage the slightest movement.

"You should have run," her Nord told her.

Sjöfn glared. _"You_ should have run. Then I wouldn't have had to go back for you."

"You didn't have to."

Her mouth snapped shut on her automatic response, because he was right. She didn't have to. She could have left him. What had she been thinking?

"You both should have run. I'm afraid there's only one way out of this one." The Nord stranger nodded toward the man wearing the gag. "This is Ulfric, true king of Skyrim. The Imperials won't bother throwing any of us in prison."

Sjöfn's eyes started to glaze over; she had no idea what he meant by any of that, nor any interest. Imperials, true kings, rebels. Some idiocy that all the men seemed to have conspired together, and now they wanted her to die for it.

Her Nord's reaction was not so blasé. "Ulfric?" he growled, stiffening beside her. The rope around his wrists strained as he tensed. "This is the rebellious wolf that threatens the Empire?"

"Easy there, traitor," the new Nord replied. "We'll all be dead soon enough. No need to start a fight here. I'm Ralof. This skinny one is Lokir, from … where was it?"

"R-rorikstead." The youth trembled, licking his lips. "They won't really execute me, will they? I'm not with you. You'll tell them, won't you?"

"Won't do you any good, horse-thief." Ralof shrugged.

Rooftops appeared over the crest of a hill as the wagon climbed, and Sjöfn started making plans. Too many of them here; Imperials all around. Altmer on horseback.

"At least I know Ulfric is dead, if I have to be executed today. It's all I came here for."

Sjöfn rolled her eyes at her Nord, watching as Ralof and Ulfric tensed. Lokir chanted his litany of gods and goddesses, clearly panicking as he beseeched their help. The wagon rolled into Helgen, and people started shouting, a few throwing half-rotten vegetables.

_What a waste of good food._

"Elf." Her Nord was looking at her, blond hair falling over his face. Sjöfn wondered briefly if he might be helpful for an escape, but then she remembered his leg. Which was entirely his own fault, and not, in any way, her problem.

"A kiss before dying?" he asked.

Sjöfn eyed the guards, deciding that they weren't watching too closely. She slid over, sitting on his lap, her bound hands resting on his. "I would like a kiss before dying." She leaned closer, grinding against him. Already, she could feel him responding to her. _Laughing at my Dibellan studies._ She leaned close, almost touching her lips to his. She drank in his desire, feeling him straining, then she whispered, "But I'm not dying today."

Her Nord gave a kind of strangled groan as Sjöfn slid off of him, enjoying his frustration. Ralof laughed a little, and her Nord breathed heavily, clearly trying to regain control of himself.

_Serves him right,_ she thought, then the wagon stopped. Two Imperial soldiers approached the back of the wagon, pulling prisoners down.

"Wait, wait," Lokir pleaded. "I'm not with them, I swear it."

Sjöfn smiled at the guard pushing her toward the others, knowing it was useless. Too many soldiers, and all intent on an execution. She wouldn't be able to charm anyone out here. Her Nord landed beside her with a grunt, half crumpling on his bad leg. The Imperial beside him yanked him back to his feet.

She smirked a little. "Why not tell them you came to kill Ulfric?"

"It wouldn't help." Her Nord shrugged, apparently resigned to his fate.

Sjöfn kept her eyes moving. Too many, too many. If she could get to a rooftop, she had a clear shot all the way to the woods. Once in the trees, alone, she had a chance … if the damn Altmer didn't get a glimpse of her.

"Step forward when I call your name."

Sjöfn's heart started to beat a little faster. They already had the block out, the headsman waiting. Mayhap she should demand a trial by combat? No, they'd send the Altmer after her, and she had no defense against magic as powerful as his. Run, then?

As though he heard the idea, Lokir broke, sprinting for the gates.

"Archers!" the Imperial captain ordered.

Sjöfn saw too soon that Lokir was doomed. The distance to the gate, the readiness of the archers. She closed her eyes before they fired, and when she opened them again, Lokir was just a bundle of rags on the road some distance away.

"Who are you?"

Sjöfn looked to the Imperial who asked. He had a kind face. Mayhap she wouldn't be killed for a crime she hadn't committed. "Sjöfn Nightheart," she said. "My father was Torbar Kjarsen, the Bear." She gave a tentative smile. _I have done nothing wrong,_ that smile said; _rescue me and I am apt to be grateful._

The Imperial swallowed hard, shuffling his feet a little. "Captain, she isn't on the list. Should we—"

"They all go to the block." She spat on the ground, her Legionnaire's plated leather skirt clinking against itself as she marched closer to the headsman.

_Trying to make sure she's close enough to smell the blood, I'd wager._ Sjöfn moved where she was pushed, trembling slightly. Her Nord stepped up next, giving his name as Jökull Ice-Storm, then he moved to stand beside her, leaning—with just the barest touch—against her arm.

"Any plan yet?" Jökull's voice kept low, not betraying her to their captors.

Sjöfn shook her head, barely moving her lips as she replied. "No. That damn horse-thief stole my plan. I have no ideas, now."

Jökull snorted at her little joke. "I'm surprised, but I find I'll miss you already."

Ahead of them, one of the blue-clad rebels stepped forward. Sjöfn glared at Jökull. "You won't miss me, you'll be dead. Besides, what's to miss? You don't know me at all."

"Still." Jökull shrugged again, then pulled at his worn tunic, filthy linen wraps like the ones the Imperials had dressed her in, as well. "Why do you think the actual Stormcloaks got to keep their damn armor?"

The headsman raised his axe, bringing it down to sever the rebel's head. The head rolled away, until the executioner picked it up by the hair and showed it to the gathered crowd. They cheered; Sjöfn shuddered.

"Next prisoner!" The Imperial captain gestured to Sjöfn, who could only tremble.

Jökull glanced at her, leaning to whisper in her ear. "Take another moment. Plan your escape." Then he limped toward block and headsman.

"I'm next, I suppose," he announced.

Sjöfn still couldn't move as Jökull knelt in front on the block. She couldn't move as he placed his head on the block, stormy blue-grey eyes focused on her.

The clouds rumbled ominously. Sjöfn's eyes stayed locked on his. The headsman raised his axe.

"What in Oblivion is that?" The crowd turned as a dark shadow landed on the tower behind the headsman, who dropped his axe. The ground shook, and Sjöfn fell to her knees.

"_Dragon, dragon!"_ someone screamed. People scattered every direction as the glossy black creature poured flame over the crowd. Then it leapt back into the sky, swooping away to rain more destruction down on Helgen.

"Sjöfn, here," Ralof called. She struggled to her feet, then her eyes happened upon Jökull, doing the same next to the blood-stained block. "Sjöfn, with me, let's go, now." Ralof crouched by a tower some distance away while the dragon flew by, laying another line of fire in front of him.

Jökull still hadn't managed to find his feet. Sjöfn growled as she ran to him, once again letting him lean on her. With their hands still tied, she found it nearly impossible to help him effectively.

"You're dead weight, you milk-drinker, why did you think you could fight Ulfric, anyway?" Stupid oafish Nord, what in Tamriel was wrong with his leg, anyway? She hadn't kicked it _that_ hard. She would swear to that.

She had only gotten two steps when Ralof appeared on Jökull's other side, taking his weight from Sjöfn so they could all hobble between debris and flame. They reached the tower, Ralof and Jökull standing at the door, watching the dragon. She ignored them, running past the Stormcloaks huddled inside, waiting likes lambs for the slaughter.

Sjöfn headed for the stairs, hoping to find another way out. A Stormcloak stood on the landing, clearing debris.

"Mind helping me out a little?" she asked, gesturing with her bound hands. He had turned from his task, stepping forward to help her, when the side of the building caved in. Sjöfn fell, closing her eyes against the heat as the dragon's head poked into the tower and bathed it with flame. The Stormcloak screamed and the stench of his flesh roasting hit her. Her stomach turned. That was one of those smells she would never get used to. The screams finally tapered off and Sjöfn opened her eyes, using the wall behind her to slide to her feet.

"Quickly, quickly," Ralof shouted. He and Jökull stomped up the stairs, Ralof resting a hand on Sjöfn's arm. "Are you all right?"

She held her _still-_bound wrists up to show him. "Yes. My hands—"

"No time." He leaned out the hole in the side of the tower, then pulled back, clapping her on the shoulder. "I think you can make the jump. Go, both of you. My men and I are heading back out there to try to fight through."

Sjöfn looked out of the tower. An inn sat next door, cozied right up to the wall. A straight drop.

"You go first. I might not be able to move once I've landed." Jökull shook his head, standing beside her, his mouth set in a straight, hard line.

"What, you think I'll be stuck up here, unable to jump with you in my way?" Her brow furrowed at him. Surely, he didn't think she'd get killed just because he happened to be in her way?

Jökull rolled his eyes. "No, I just know you won't hesitate to jump, and you'll break all my ribs."

She grinned back at him; he had a pretty good read on her already. Sjöfn stepped to the edge, then dropped over to the inn, landing lightly and rolling. It really wasn't that bad. Not too far at all. Unless, of course, your leg was already damaged ….

"Hang on," she shouted. She spotted a thick table, and got on the other side of it, pushing her shoulder against it. It slid, inch by inch, until it was directly under the tower. It would cut the drop by a couple of feet, at least. She stepped back, and Jökull landed heavily on the table, leg crumpling again.

"Really, what is wrong with that leg?"

Jökull shook his head. "It's nothing. Let's go." He set off at a brisk limp, half-dragging the one leg as they navigated out of the inn. They stepped out of the building, and into what looked like a plane of Oblivion. Everyone ran about madly, screaming as they went. Most of the Legion had organized, sending arrows up into the obsidian monster, but a few ran with the crowd, unable to stay calm under threat of dragon.

Sjöfn pulled out ahead of Jökull, trying to figure out which way to go. The Imperials closed the fort for the execution, so they wouldn't be able to get out through the main gates. Most of the courtyard burned; anywhere open was likely a sentence for a very painful death. A little ways away, the dragon landed, a small child just a few paces in front of it.

"Come, child, to me." The kind-faced Imperial from before crouched, coaxing the child to run before he got roasted. The dragon opened its mouth, flame pouring over teeth like black knives, and the child ran just in time, huddling against the soldier.

Jökull nudged her. "This way." He limped toward the tableau, leaving Sjöfn to stare after him.

"Toward our executioner, you mean?" she yelled, but ignored her. After a moment, she decided to catch up and trotted after him. She was going to get killed out here, anyway.

"Still alive, prisoners? Stay with me, and you might get out of here that way. Go!" He left the child with someone else, and started running along the outer wall.

Sjöfn followed, Jökull bringing up the rear. Where was the damn dragon? If he was somewhere outside the wall, he couldn't see them ….

_Crash._ The dragon landed on the wall behind them, sending heavy stone blocks falling down, narrowly missing landing on their heads. Great, leathery wings came down, and the three of them pushed back against the wall, trying not to let it know they were there. Fire belched out over their heads, then the thing leapt skyward again.

_If I never see a damn dragon again, I think I can die happily,_ Sjöfn predicted.

"We can get out through the main barracks," the Imperial yelled. "Just ahead." Sjöfn saw the building he meant, stacked right against the outer wall; it must have an exit, then. Good. They would get out to the woods, then she could drop these people, and go back to her life. Far, far away from the remains of Helgen.

"Ralof, you damned traitor!" The Imperial stopped.

"We're escaping, Hadvar, and you can't stop us this time."

Sjöfn looked to the Imperial, Hadvar, before looking back to Ralof. Kind face or no, one of these men had already tried to kill her.

"Leave him, let's go," Hadvar growled, jogging toward the barracks. Jökull followed, but paused, apparently realizing Sjöfn hadn't moved.

"Sjöfn?" Stormy eyes pleaded with her. Sjöfn shook her head, and turned to trot after Ralof, instead.

"Sjöfn!"

"Leave her, she's chosen her fate," Hadvar told him, grabbing Jökull's arm to guide him inside.

Ralof waited for Sjöfn, then ushered her in at the other door. "You chose well," he said. "The Stormcloaks are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim, Sjöfn Torbarsdotter."

"My name is Nightheart, from my mother's people," she corrected. "Even if I am also a daughter of Skyrim."

Ralof pulled the door closed, and Sjöfn hoped he actually knew the way out of here; it was an Imperial fort, and she'd chosen to escape with a rebel. As far as she had a choice. Who in Oblivion would choose to go with someone who'd just had your head on the block?


End file.
